


Commandments: A Four Part Series

by veridium_bye



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Mages and Templars, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 04:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15766512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veridium_bye/pseuds/veridium_bye
Summary: It is the early weeks of the Inquisition’s existence, and the burden of witnessing such a disaster has begun to weigh on Inquisitor Trevelyan’s resolve. A stoic and assured woman, the emotions of loss and humanity lead her to the take advice from another individual with experience in such matters.





	1. Lamentations

The snow beneath her was starting to seep through her layers where she sat, underneath the cover of a few pine trees. Her knees curled up, arms resting on them, she looked out at the frozen body of water from the visibility of her cowl hood. Small tufts of snow came billowing down around her. Haven was the most ironic name for a place in which sleep evaded her, and fate called upon her life to be risked in such an extraordinary, and terrifying, way.

Footfalls in the snow drew near. She couldn’t care at that point, though. If her enemies decided on this approach, perhaps her life was always meant to be disposed of.

“Your Worship, Scout Harding say she spotted you on her way to the gates. Why are you here alone, with no guard or notice?” Commander Cullen’s deep voice, warm, concerned though unassuming.

Amarantha swallowed hard. She didn’t respond at first, but her arms uncovered themselves from the cover of her cloak. In doing so, she revealed the pieces of parchment in her hands. Letters from everywhere, sent to her door.

“Has Leliana or Josephine told you of the letters I receive every day?” She asked solemnly, her voice stoic, though heart-wrenching.

Cullen paused, now standing a mere five feet from her back. “No, I don’t believe I recall any word. Why?”

“Josephine originally insisted she field them, but I demanded they be sent through to me. They are addressed to me by name, after all. Even if in title.”

Cullen looked out at the mountains and lake, the stillness, unnerving yet wondrous. “And what are these letters, exactly?”

Amarantha’s throat stiffened, and her eyes welled up viscerally. Though, she took great care to remain still and not let on that she was like this.

“Letters from people who’s relatives and loved ones were at the Conclave. They believe since I survived, that I could have seen their brother, sister, husband, wife, anyone…they want closure, and they see me as their only chance. I haven’t replied, though some of them have been waiting almost 3 weeks. I don’t know what to say. How do I say anything at all? After losing so much of my memory, and what little I do have is…is, burning, violence, death—”

“Inquisitor,” he interrupted, knowingly. “You cannot let yourself wade through the bottomless pit of these visions. Trust me, I am a veteran of such behavior.” He didn’t want to let on all of his weaknesses, but in Amarantha’s voice he related to a stoicism he also reflected. He knew its shortcomings.

Amarantha bit her lip sorrowfully, choking back another wave of tears. “You should see some of these stories, Cullen. They flesh out these people who I’ve never known, and the way they describe them…it’s as if I am forgetting an old friend, or a lover. I am forgetting them, they just belong to other people.”

Overhead, a winter hawk flew and cawed, its sound piercing the vast space they were in. Amarantha didn’t look up, but the Commander did. He always saw them as an omen, though the intention was unclear.

“May I call you by your first name?” he asked, stepping closer.

“Yes, please,” she replied, her voice cracking when she said please.

Cullen approached and sat in the snow beside her, one knee bent upwards, an elbow resting on it. “I cannot think of anything to say that will possibly resolve this torment for you, other than these are not the only experiences you will have. I know it can feel that way, when all you see in your dreams, or when your eyes are closed, is despair. But, if you can find small things to invest great hope in, it helps.”

Amarantha eyed him from her periphery.

“Amarantha,” he said, softly, “You are not the bringer of destruction some would have you believe.”

She toiled and twisted the papers in her hands nervously. Then, a wince, as the edge of one made a paper cut in her finger. “Dammit,” she cursed. She exasperatedly tossed the pile a foot or two in front of her feet, and they started dampening in the snow.

Cullen quickly recovered them, fearing the ink would bleed. “Take care, Herald.”

Amarantha began to steam with frustration, it felt as though her ears would explode like tea kettles. “I want so badly to represent something, and yet part of me wants to run, run far. It’s like two minds inside one skull. When I read these…these testimonies, I feel like no matter what I say or do, I fail them. I show indignance for those who have no formal titles, ploys, or lands. Cullen, more than half of these are from humble farmers, merchants, servants…people, every day people. Their loved ones matter to them like I matter to you and the council. Irreplaceable, remarkable, inimitable. They’re gone, and no one would care, but they believe I will be different, and, and…”

The sobs boiled over, and her face went into her hands.

Cullen watched her, his face saddening. He folded the papers as best he could, and stuffed them in one of his pockets. Then, intuitively, he leaned in and pulled her close, like a brother to a sister he couldn’t be.

Amarantha felt the enclosing warmth and initially wanted to pull away, but she knew this chance of openness would scarcely happen again. Something inside her yearned for it. The top of her head rested in the crook of his neck, and she cried, and cried, and cried. She didn’t bother to keep track of time.

He remained still and stalwart.

Eventually, both her tears and voice quieted. When she felt the wave dissipate, she gently pulled away. Her nose and cheeks were red with fervor. She grabbed a handful of her cloak and pressed it to her face, drying up the remaining dampness, the remaining weakness.

“I don’t know why I did that. I apologize. You were not brought here to be my confidant or confessional,” she corrected herself. Her voice was hardening and stabilizing.

Cullen scoffed. “Tell me, Amarantha, when is the last time you sat with your feelings from the Conclave?” he adjusted himself in the absence of her body in his space, straightening his posture.

“Never. It’s not been long. It usually takes me time to boil over, if I ever do,” she responded with brutal honesty.

“That kind of modus operandi is useful in harsh times, though when we have moments to breath, we realize how we have been suffocating ourselves this whole time,” he remarked, his hands folding together austerely.

Amarantha’s posture remained hunched, broken. “You’re saying I should just fall apart like a broken wagon every other hour?” she knew that was probably not the case, but her defensiveness reigned.

“I’m sure you know the answer to that,” he called her bluff.

She looked out once more, eyes distant. Her chest released the air held in her lungs like a reservoir. “I will find a solution. I just haven’t got a clue where to start. Not yet.”

A few more moments passed before Cullen stood. “Whenever you begin, you know many eyes and many hearts are with you,” he reached a hand down to her, offering. She took it, and stood facing him for a moment.

“Why do I get the feeling you are the person who comforts those so well because you’ve gone so long without it yourself?” she asked, her ember red eyes piercing into his.

Cullen’s posture adjusted awkwardly, trying to displace the discomfort he felt at the question. “Your Worship, we all make attempts to make up for the shortcomings we face in our lives. Does it really matter where the comfort comes from, so long as it is there?”

Amarantha kept eyeing him. “That depends, Commander, on where it was supposed to be going before its energies were diverted elsewhere.”

He sighed, and nodded once.

They trekked back to Haven in silence, though in this case, the words spoke to quality and not quantity. This would not be the last time she would seek out answers to Cullen’s aching sympathies.


	2. Good Intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some time has passed since the Inquisition discovered Skyhold, in the wake of the siege at Haven. Inquisitor Trevelyan has had some time to grow into her role, even with the relative newness of her title, she finds herself better equipped for these times. She has one person in particular for whom she holds a peculiar gratitude.

Crisp air in the lungs always provided a solace few other senses could compare to, for Lady Amarantha. Back at Ostwick, after hours and hours of being in her room with library books chocked full of dust, her escorted walks out in the open air were a priceless reprieve.

Gazing out from the Skyhold battlements, no Templar escort in sight, she felt a new kind of expansiveness in her chest. No eyes on her back, no heavy footfalls of armor at her side. Well, except when it was on the body of pleasant company.

She walked along the stone path, of what remained of it, anyway. Chunks of the wall still needed to be rebuilt, but this subsection of wall was enough for her, for now. Sometimes it felt as if she was reverse-claustrophobic: too much space promised too much unknown.

Her boots scuffed the rock under her as she made her way to a familiar figure.

“Commander,” she greeted, hands behind her back as she stood beside him, “we find ourselves once again enjoying the view of a winter scape,” she said, confidence in her tone.

Cullen had a lot on his mind, but her approach made his posture relax. “Inquisitor. I was just checking on the construction progress of the battlements. Soon, our troops can properly guard and outfit this place,” he reported astutely.

She looked at him and nodded. “I hope so. We will continue efforts to secure quarries. I will oversee it myself,” she shifted her weight back and forth from leg to leg.

They began to walk, toward the opposite end of the battlement path. The small-talk was lighthearted, but well-meaning.

“Have you sent that letter to Lady Mia?” Amarantha asked, her hands falling to her side as she strode alongside him.

Cullen smirked, “Yes, thanks to your insistent questions,” he wasn’t proud of how distant he could grow from his loved ones, but Amarantha’s curiosity compelled him to take more interest. She motivated him in certain respects, which he did not expect.

“How are you holding up? Surely the doubled-down diplomacy of being the Inquisitor has not pushed you passed a point of no return,” he retorted, eyeing her side profile.

“I am fortunate to have many at my side who help me decipher and conduct myself smartly,” she grinned. If it weren’t for Ambassador Montilyet with her knowledge, Cassandra to keep her grounded and provide context for dealings with the Chantry and Andrastian customs, or Sera’s sharp comments reminding her there’s always more out there than gold and nobility, she wouldn’t have fared nearly as well. And those were just the three names that initially came to mine when contemplating her success; it was truly a collaborative force.

“I’m relieved to hear,” the Commander sighed.

They came to the other end of the battlement line, and stopped to survey out of principle.

“My Lady, it occurs to me that I never checked whether or not you were still…comfortable with my addressing you at first name. Since you’ve become Inquisitor, I’d imagine your feelings have changed,” his nerves began to show as he adjusted the one of his gloves, busying himself.

Amarantha smiled. “No harm done, Cullen. I don’t mind,” she answered simply.

His face warmed at the response, short, but something he didn’t prepare for.

“Then, Amarantha—”

“Cullen?” she interrupted, not on purpose.

His eyes flickered as he caught himself. “Yes?”

“I want to say this before I get ushered away. I appreciate you being there for me during some…incredibly trying circumstances. I didn’t expect to find someone akin to my sensibilities in the way you are. It was even more surprising to find it in a Templar, though you have left the Order, we both know how engrained our experiences can be. My past would say that kind of kindred capability would be difficult at best, impossible at worst,” Her posture was straight, but inviting, even when encased in light armor.

Cullen watched her, his chest feeling as though it were getting hollow. She trusts me so much, he thought to himself. How do I handle this?

While his mind scurried to find some assemblage of words, she watched him, slightly amused. “What, is this considered inappropriate for the Commander of the Inquisition forces?”

He cleared his throat and rolled his shoulder back. “Not at all, Your Worship.”

Amarantha smirked. “What happened to my name?”

Everything has happened, he thought.

She waited for a response, but all she got was him shaking his head and grinning with a sorry, though personable, expression. “Come, let us return from whence we came,” she comforted, moving towards him and hooking her right hand around the crook of his arm, like a gentleman escort. Like the ones back at the Circle, the few she would view with sympathy, who were kind enough to her for her to elect to be close.

He was caught off guard, though it was not the first time they walked like this. He turned and began to walk with her, his arm tensing robustly under her soft hand. Nerves.

Amarantha did not deny within herself that she had an affinity for the Commander, though her duties left her little time to contemplate. Thinking on her feet was as much a part of the job description as her glowing green hand was for sealing rifts. Though, in front of her face, the fact of the matter was she enjoyed his company, his energy. It was strong, though not infallible. She wanted to understand where that came from.

“Amarantha, before I forget, I must give you back those books. I can’t say I finished them, and you can chastise me all you like,” he remarked, looking straight ahead. Amarantha had lent him folk tale stories, a small collection of thin-bound books she carried with her from the Circle all the way to her new life at Skyhold.

She looked at him with a teasing, aghast expression. “Cullen, you promised,” she said back, a rare humor in her voice.

Cullen couldn’t help but smile. “I’m a man of my word, not of my studies, I suppose,” he countered.

With her outside hand, she lightly slapped his armored bicep. “Fine, you win.” She would take them back and re-read them, she did miss having them in her own room.

They walked down the stairs to the grounds. From the outside of her eye, Amarantha saw Cassandra, watching her. She made eye contact, and her friend’s face was of worry, but also heartfelt interest. Amarantha nodded towards her with a look of assurance. From several yards away, she could see her friend take her at her unsaid word, and return to what she was doing, re-entering the Smith’s shop.

Amarantha’s focus returned to her walk with Cullen, though not for long. “I’m afraid I have more business to attend to,” she said, tiredly.

Cullen came to a stop and gently untangled his arm from hers. “It is hardly a surprise,” he replied, before looking out around them. “I’m sure someone somewhere has a report for me. I should return to my duties as well.”

She shook her head. “It is almost as if we are at war. Well, farewell, Commander. I will see you at the Council meeting this evening.”

Amarantha bowed her head lightly, her eyes staying locked on his until she had to turn away, and head up the stairs to Skyhold hall. He watched her go, her black hair braided in a half-up, half-down style that was different from her usual style. Maker knows what compelled her to look the way she did that day, but he wouldn’t question such divine, subliminal choices.

From his left side, another voice, familiar though less endearing.

“Commander, you sure know how to pick ‘em,” Varric walked closer, a smug look on his face as he, too, watched her go.

Cullen knew there were probably rumors and eyes watching how he and the Inquisitor were conducting themselves, especially now that they were positioned in Skyhold, and Amarantha’s priorities became even more focused on propelling momentum from nobility, both in minds and coin. He didn’t want to contemplate what it would mean for the reputation of her person, only what it would mean for her as a leader, his technical superior. He had a difficult time trying to uncover how he would organically feel if she were to return any affection he was brave enough to give, once he could conjure the impulse to express it.

A mage, a mage Inquisitor, at that, being this much of a attraction for him. Unbelievably inconvenient. He knew he had to look at her with open eyes, even as her humanity made him all-too-easily forget what she was capable of, and what endangered her. He had to see who she was, entirely, and he didn’t know if he could. But, then there was the feeling he got from just walking with her on decayed battlements; it was idyllic, and even he could feel it, with as much as he worked to suppress. She made everything so profoundly warm.

Still, at least her sarcasm wasn’t obnoxious.

“Varric, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cullen said, watching her figure for a moment more, before turning to Varric, nodding, and walking away with an uncharacteristic rapidity.

“Sure, sure, Curly, don’t worry, we all know for you,” Varric called out to him. Something in his intuition told him this wouldn’t end well, though for the time being, seeing the Commander loosen up—perhaps by his own, impossible standards—was enough to make him back off.


	3. Growing Pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is a relative quiet morning at Skyhold, and Inquisitor Amarantha Trevelyan is taking some time to humor some of her favorite guests. Though, her entertaining style causes a point of conflict between her and Commander Cullen, and both finally reckon with the harsh realities surrounding their bond.

Amarantha was actually dancing, and the event caused a stir of confusion and elation around her that almost emanated throughout the entirety of Skyhold. Cassandra was deep in her thoughts, strolling down the stairs to the main courtyard, when the spectacle caught her eye.

There she was, their serious and careful leader, dancing. Or, more partaking in a dance beyond herself. Hand-in-hand, she side-stepped in a circle, three young girls connected to her. It was quite an image: Amarantha in light adventuring gear, sturdy, scuffed boots and all, making lighthearted memories with children. She had heard reports from the Inquisitor’s intervention on the behalf of a young girl in the Hinterlands refugee camp, but she thought that more anomalous. Clearly, Lady Trevelyan had a soft spot beyond reproach.

Cassandra smirked, standing and watching. She wished people could experience more of this boundless joy here. It was good for the soul.

The dancing circle came to a stop, the girls giggling with shyness. “Lady Trevelyan, do it again! Please! I want to try!” the girl in the middle squealed, her long braided hair swishing behind her.

Amarantha took a breath – she had no idea where they got all this energy from – and laughed at the question. “Okay, Ruth, but remember what I told you! Don’t hold your breath this time,” she warned jovially, before slipping her glove off her right hand.

Cassandra’s look became one of intrigue as she waited for the “it” that the Inquisitor was going to do again.

Amarantha’s exposed hand began to swirl a pattern in the air, like she was hand-painting something invisible. Soon, ribbons of energy began to form, and Amarantha’s eyes began to glow even more than they usually did. Then, when the ribbons had become almost opaque in their blue/grey coloring, it snapped. Flurries of snow and sparkling ice plumed into the air around them and began to fall to the ground.

The girls watched silent, in wonder, up until the pop. Then, it was flagrant dancing, giggling, and trying to catch the flakes in their hands. One girl – the same one with the braid – held out her palm, too, and looked like she was trying to mimic the trick with her own.

“Argh!” the girl growled. “Mother can do it! You can do it! Why can’t I?” her tone irritated.

Amarantha had been watching the other girls run around her, but when she saw the one staring at her own hand, she drew closer and crouched down in front of her, hands grasping the girl’s forearms softly.

“Ruth, do not become frustrated. It took me a long time to be able to do what I do. It’ll come along for you, just keep to your studies, alright?” Amarantha’s light, encouraging smile was almost too good to resist. Ruth pouted for a moment, but then she nodded, giving up the cause for now.

“Thank you, Lady Inquisitor.”

Meanwhile, back where Cassandra was standing and observing, the Seeker wondered just how expansive the Inquisitor’s reputation was for Mages across Thedas. Surely, she had always known it would change the makeup of Mage politics forever, but she never quite grasped the context of a child’s life. Children everywhere, who would come to know themselves and their capabilities, would look to her as a sign of something beyond their circumstances to aspire to.

From over her shoulder, Cullen’s voice rang. “I do not know why she insists on spending time with the children of the pilgrimage like this. She scares the troops,” he observed, coming to Cassandra’s side.

They both watched, and though Cullen would assume she would understand, it had become more complicated for Cassandra as of late.

“Commander, she represents something magnetic in nature. Hope, in a time of violence. Surely we must see the need to sympathize,” she advised, keeping her eyes on the Inquisitor and the children.

“Yes, but you know as well as I that children with Mage abilities are liabilities, and without proper infrastructure—“

“What are you two doing there? Trying to start a sculpture garden in our Courtyard?” Amarantha called out, holding Ruth’s hand comfortingly. Cullen and Cassandra stiffened up, both unable to think on their feet what to respond with.

Amarantha looked down at the girls. “Run along, young ones, I have some tasks to attend to,” she said warmly. The girls nodded and frolicked back towards the direction of the Mage tower, presumably to visit their parents lending their energies to studies.

Amarantha exhaled contently, watching them run before approaching her two friends. “Seriously, though, is there something wrong? You looked like you just watched a horse walk on its hind legs,” she joked, dusting off her pant idly.

“No matter, Inquisitor. We simply were curious about what you had been up to this morning,” Cassandra tried to make conversation, but she could still feel Cullen’s rigidity beside her.

Amarantha watched her speak, but she, too, could feel Cullen was not on board. “Cullen? What of it?” she asked shortly.

Cassandra looked at them both before taking a step back. “I have to check on the Smith works. If you’ll excuse me, Inquisitor, we will speak later,” she said, withdrawing. Amarantha nodded and let her go.

Now, the Inquisitor’s gaze was only on Cullen, who stood in front of her unafraid yet cautious. “Cullen, what’s got you so tongue-tied?” she pressed again, stepping closer. Cullen’s jaw tightened as he couldn’t escape from her gaze, the specks of red and brown in her irises could burn through a mountain façade if she willed it enough. And he meant that quite literally.

“Amarantha, I—“

“Come on, now,” she interrupted. This made him a bit more impulsively upset.

“I was simply telling the Seeker about my concerns for the Mages who arrive here and practice their abilities out in the open with so much vulnerable to their power should they make mistakes. Particulary the children,” he explained, hands resting on the handle of his sword.

Amarantha’s eyes caught his grip on his sword, and something viscerally defensive brewed within her. “They are children like any other, Commander. We’ve discussed our feelings on Mage liberties before. I will not yield now,” she responded, walking over and leaning up against the stone railing of the stairs.

The Commander sighed, remembering all-too-well those heated and at times bombastic arguments. “Yes, but as the leader of the Inquisition, you must take heart the perspectives of all, not just Mages.”

“Ah yes, because Mages are the front-and-center of all negotiations at all times. Even if it is to dehumanize them and their needs,” she retorted, her eyes narrowing with critical energy.

“I will not re-embark on this discourse with you for the sake of our—“

“Our candor? Or our relationship?” she asked harshly.

Cullen paused and swallowed stiffly. “Both, if I can help it.”

Amarantha scoffed and shook her head, looking out at the Courtyard, towards the stables.

“You did not used to be so confrontational,” Cullen remarked.

“When, Cullen? When I insisted on bringing the Mage rebellion onto our forces? When I spared Alexius’s life? When I did not take the deserting Templars’ lip service when we all know they hate the idea of being led by someone like me?” Amarantha was tired, and maybe she was looking for a fight, but she didn’t think Cullen would be this way simply from watching her play with children. It was a defensive nerve for her, and she assumed he would know that by now.

“I have stood by all of your decisions and understood the difficulties in balancing them,” he replied, arms folding rigidly as he turned to face her.

Amarantha eyed him from her periphery. “I have to remain a mediating voice here. Between Solas, Dorian, and Vivienne, I must synthesize ideologies into something attainable, something good,” her voice had softened, feeling the pressure on her shoulders to be something bigger, aspire to something bigger, not just for herself, but for her kind.

Cullen was silent for a moment, contemplating what would be the best way to disarm her tongue and get her to be like she normally was: jesting, assured, thoughtful.

“Amarantha, you are right. You have so much to balance, and that is because you are so much more than a Mage or a person,” he was going to continue, but she cut him off:

“’A Mage or a person,’ my, how that summarizes the politics of the last age,” her words began to sharpen even more. “Tell me, Cullen, and tell me honestly: does your friendship require an implicit amnesia for who I am, for all that I am, or does it reckon with the fact that one of your confidants is not just a Mage, but your technical superior?” she bit down hard on her words.

Cullen began to become angry. “You question my loyalty to you? After all we have done?”

“No, not as a Commander. You are beyond reproach in that regard. I am speaking of us as friends, as people who have depended on one another for advice and comfort. People who have recognized each other’s imperfections.”

The medical staff in the courtyard infirmary eyed the two, who were visibly upset with each other. People wondered if it was because of Inquisition events, perhaps a battle or a skirmish. Few actually dared to wonder if it was more personal in nature.

Cullen sighed, the stress in his voice ever-apparent. “I cannot deny that at times I have felt disconcerted by who you are. But you have proven me wrong, you have proven every assumption I have made about you wrong,” he tried to save the conversation one last time.

“Me, but not my people,” she breathed, her eyes beginning to show hurt.

“Amarantha, I cannot just drop my experiences down on the table and let them go. You know how difficult my life has been, and where Mages have been positioned in it,” his candidness was even more devastating to her.

Her face was forlorn, but then, as she turned away from him, it hardened. “You remind me so much of Gregor,” she let it slip out, and the ache of regret shot up her back like lightening.

“Gregor? Who is that?”

“He was a Templar at the Ostwick circle. My peer, who I shared sleeping quarters with…I, I cannot tell this story,” she stopped herself, waving her hands in the air, eyes closed.

Cullen stepped forward after her. “Why? Did you do something…?” He knew he shouldn’t have asked, but the curiosity did kill the cat.

Amarantha turned and stared at him from the side. “Would you reconsider your sympathies for me if I did? Resign me to the stature of another idle Mage?” she bit back, trying to get him to back off.

“Amarantha, please,” he said, eyes rolling.

“No, you know what, fine. My peer? Her name was Briona,” she stepped closer to him assertively. “The Templar Gregor? He became infatuated with her. She was beautiful, and intelligent, and charismatic. But, she just happened to have an interest in necromancy. He used his power and privilege to regularly invade her privacy. Search through her belongings, read her letters to her family, sift through the books at her desk. He found a book on necromancy that she was sent by a friend, and became enraged. When he confronted her, she stood by her choices, and did not want to change who she was for the affection of a Templar. He beat her for it,” her words ached with pain at the last two sentences.

Cullen was defensive, but he couldn’t say that the story she told was uncommon. He knew as well as she did that he could not say it was an exception to the rule. Though, he detested Templars who broke the boundary between them and Mages for their own hungers.

Amarantha held back the tears she knew were preparing to show. She looked away, exasperated. “Every time I see a young girl who is excited by herself, who feels confident in who she is, even as a Mage, I see her and I see us, who we could have been had someone told us not to hate ourselves. I may be a mediator, Commander, but I am not heartless. The mage rebellion sent Briona and I on the run, and Gregor never stopped trying to hunt her down. I had to kill him myself, when he found our camp one night. If I didn’t, I would have lost her,” she held her arms to her chest.

Cullen watched her speak, the walls he had mentally constructed around him began to crack, though it was painful and counter-intuitive to his entire being.

“That was a disastrous circumstance, and I do not blame you for doing what you had to do to survive,” he finally spoke, though not daring to step any closer to her. “I am, however, disturbed that I remind you of someone who was clearly malicious and corrupt,” he was hurt, and now the situation seemed to be devolving into mutual hurting for the other’s sake.

“I did not mean to say that you reminded me of his violence. Before things went all wrong, Gregor used to speak just as conservative as you did. He would never imply that Briona or I deserved harm, but he wouldn’t insist on the opposite, either. He was always on the side of caution, of sticking by what they knew to be true: Mages were dangerous, and must be contained.”

“I still take offence to it,” he said.

“Cullen, I want you to understand,” she took a step closer to him. “I know you have feelings for me. I know because I…I feel a peculiar way about you, too, and it isn’t out of thin air. I cannot deny it, and it would go against all of my behavior towards you to do so. You and I have a connection that is uncommon, one that I appreciate. But I do not know what you wish to make of it, nor do I think everything within you is pleased with being infatuated with someone like me.”

Cullen’s stomach churned with anxiety as she spoke the ominous underpinnings of their dynamic out into the open, beyond ambiguity, beyond suppression.

“I think this conversation would best be continued in private,” he became standoffish, the mind of a Commander trumping the mind of a friend.

Amarantha shook her head. “No, because Maker knows what saga may unfold if we consort in a dimly-lit room.”

“Amarantha…fine. But, if you believe me duplicitous towards you, that is the farthest thing from what I intended,” he managed to spit out, though he wanted to say so much more.

Amarantha looked down and exhaled deeply. “I know you mean well, Cullen. But I also mean well. And for you, that seems to mean something very different.”

A moment passed before the Inquisitor spoke again. “Being with me would be torturous on your virtues, Commander. It would grade on you, and force you to engage with a new and terribly hypocrisy. And for me it would mean looking those girls’ in their faces, and making my life an apologia for the Circles and the Templars that enforced those walls.”

“I disagree whole-heartedly,” he said, “Amarantha, I meant what I said before. You are so much more than one or two identities, you are the Inquisitor. You can be so much more than what others see. You need to free yourself from the image you are trying to convey,” he went so far as to place his hand on her shoulder. Underneath it all, he still swore that he could find and reconnect with the woman he had come to know, come to be so fond of.

“Cullen, you cannot even free my image from the horrors you’ve endured and the choices you’ve made. How can you demand of me to do it three times over?” Amarantha’s tone was cold, judgmental even.

With that, Amarantha slid his hand off her shoulder and began to walk up the stairs. Cullen followed her to a point, but then stopped. “Amarantha!” he said, trying to get her to stop.

And when she did, he felt an ounce of dwindling hope. Though, it was quickly dissolved in what she did next. Her shoulders turned and she looked down at him, her face looked as if it was made of stone and mortar.

“Commander, I would appreciate if you could refer to me with my title, out of respect for the Inquisition’s forces and efforts for the people,” she corrected, lingering eye contact for a few seconds more, before turning back around and continuing up the stairway.

Cullen gave a solemn nod, chest raised and tightened with air. He didn’t know if this meant the end, or something far, far worse.


	4. Icebreaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the Commander and the Inquisitor, passing the days since their fight has proven difficult. Cullen seeks understanding, but Amarantha is unsure of whether she can be who he wants her to be, and meet him halfway across such an intrinsic divide. He finally finds her int he Undercroft, and the fragility of the situation is finally brought to bear.

A few days had passed since their conflict in the courtyard. While the two had remained Professional, both Josephine and Leliana noticed – not that there was tension – how hard they were trying to remain not tense, not adversarial. It concerned them, especially Leliana, for the sake of the Council, but both trusted the two to resolve the issue on their own in due time. They both trusted the Inquisitor’s and the Commander’s dispositions to not care for toil or drama.

At least, they ardently hoped.

The afternoon light caught on Amarantha’s olive skinned face for just a moment as she paced through its path on the inside of the Undercroft. She was reading logistics from Dagna’s latest experiments with spirit Runes on the Mage staffs. Perhaps it was time to move onto something more lethal and flammable, for the sake of upcoming plans for expeditions to Emprise du Lion.

Amarantha wore her resting clothes, a hunter green coat embellished with silver accents, and slacks made of a thin but sturdy hide. Perhaps Deepstalker. Her hair was down, but the strands around her face were pulled back and pinned in the back. Thoughtfully, she flipped through the pages of papers.

The Undercroft door opened, and her gaze traveled and saw a robust stature of armor and fur. It was Cullen, of course, notoriously looking as if he were a brooding romance character. Amarantha’s chest stiffened. Perhaps it would be like all their other interactions the past several days: dismissive, but efficient.

“Your Worship, what do you think?” Dagna’s voice was heard from behind Amarantha. Her mind snapped back to business and she turned around.

“I think the progress is excellent, but I fear Emprise du Lion may call for more pyro. Harding’s initial reports from outside the region talk of peaks of ice and snow from their vantage point. The Mages and I would appreciate something to counteract whatever it is that lurks there,” she explained dutifully, folding the papers and setting them on the nearest table.

“Excellent. Fire…fire works…” Dagna remarked playfully. “I’ll get on that. When I’m done, you will be able to light up the mountain top like a sparkler flare,” she grinned gleefully.

Amarantha couldn’t help but smile softly at the Archanist’s vigor. “Very good, Dagna. You’re priceless,” she affirmed. “You should go get some of the lunch rations while they’re still there. I don’t want you overworking yourself without sustenance,” she said, leaning on one hip.

Dagna smirked. “Sera’s been sending me treats for two weeks now, but sure, perhaps some meat to undercut the immense amount of cookies.”

Danga took her work gloves off and walked up the stairs towards the door. Cullen had been standing and observing, waiting for the moment to approach the Inquisitor politely.

“Commander,” Dagna greeted as she walked past him. The door opened and closed behind her, leaving the two to consort alone.

Amarantha walked towards the railing of the Undercroft window. “I see your idea of a dimly-lit private meeting has come to fruition,” she remarked, placing her hands on the stone rail.

Cullen walked down the stairs, his heavy, anxious steps almost making the rhythm of marching drums they probably have muscle memory of.

“Inquisitor, if you have a moment,” he said, walking until he was about 10ft away, interested but respectful.

Amarantha looked over her shoulder and nodded solemnly.

“I’m sure you know what I wish to discuss, but, if you could let me have the floor before you give me your verdict, I’d be most grateful,” he said, eyeing her for some semblance of softness in her attitude.

Amarantha turned around, and sitting back on the stone, she crossed her arms. “Fine,” she replied.

Cullen cleared his throat, preparing for words he had pondered for hours and hours. Some he had kept with him since the moment she crossed him, others he had to carefully craft in order to get the message across. Maker only knew how it would all sound put together.

“Your Worship, I have contemplated what you said to me in the Courtyard. I understand that you come from a precarious position, not for your own actions, but for the context in wish you live. I, too, walk a path such as this. When I say that I think you are too big of a person to confine yourself to one or two dimensions of your identity, I’m speaking to myself as much as I am speaking to you. And for that, I wish to apologize. You do not deserve to fight both our rhetorical battles.”

Amarantha’s eyes narrowed, but not with anger or defensiveness. She wondered if this could be really it: a concession, from the Commander.

“So, on that front, you definitely have me. What I am still offended by is your double-standards. You say you cannot untie yourself from the experiences in which you’ve lived, but you expect me to counteract all of mine. I did not intent for our paths to be so antagonistic in quality, but here we are. We are leading one of the most important forces for change, for peace, in this Age,” his voice began to grow more passionate, more assured.

“Reducing me to something that I have worked hard to detach from, but still remain coercively related to, is beneath someone of your integrity and stature. I say this not to demean you, but to advise you, both as a Council member and a friend. You said yourself that we share something beyond our work for this cause. Is that worth nothing to you?” he opened the floor to her, not knowing what to expect. She could grow enraged and set this whole place on fire if she wished. No, Cullen, do not reduce her to a trope, he checked himself mentally. The anxiety was still there and they both knew it.

Amarantha sighed heavily, biting the side of her lip as she thought about what to respond with. The mannerism was alluring to Cullen, at the most inconvenient time. He looked away to preserve his intent to be cordial.

Finally, she stood back upright, and looked at him.

“Cullen, you are right in many ways. I am also sorry that this happened. It was irresponsible of me to provoke such an argument. I will take care not to do so again,” she took another tense breath. “As for your point about me judging you and your past, I hope you can understand that for me, the implicit power imbalance in our life paths compel me to feel defensive of my life and the lives of Mages here. You say I judge you harshly, and you are right. I do, and a lot of it comes from a visceral sense of injustice I have scarcely dealt with. Working with so many different people, with so many different agendas, has evoked a need to stick to my own convictions for the sake of being heard and not overwhelmed,” she spoke, her tone guarded.

“As you cannot blame me for your own inner struggle, I cannot blame you for mine. But this also means that for all intents and purposes, we are incompatible,” she walked closer to him, flanking him as she eyed his facial expression shift from one of hope to one of concern.

“Inquisitor—“

“You may call me Amarantha for this conversation, Cullen,” a warm response in an otherwise bleak moment.

“Amarantha,” he breathed, rubbing the back of his head. “You won’t even try? Surely there have been connections across politics and identities before that would be more abrasive than ours.”

Every nerve in her body railed against that assertion, yet her chest fluttered with weakness. It wanted to say yes, of course, we should try. But then, the instinctive flight or fight response from her mind also came into play. Her insides felt like a mess of conflicting emotions at war with each other over the fate of her heart and soul, something she felt only once before when she was named the Herald, and then the Inquisitor.

“Just because we can, doesn’t mean that we should,” she responded distantly.

“Amarantha, do not give me that response,” he said curtly, his chin lowering, gaze piercing back at her. Another heartbeat skipped.

She rubbed her forehead and circled around where she had been standing. “Then what, Cullen? We toss this all up in the air and see what lands on the right side? You are the one person I would trust to be strategic about something such as this. Where has your mind gone?” She was now arguing with him.

Cullen scoffed. He was running out of patience, not in an angry way, but in a way where he needed to stop talking and start showing.

“It has gone. You are right. And this is where it went.”

Swiftly, he closed in on her, arms going first to her waist and cinching her upper body into his. His lips went to her unexpecting ones, closed and sweet, but nevertheless hungry. She smelled of something deep and wild, like she grew herself out of a forest somewhere untouched.

Amarantha was dumbfounded. A nerve inside her knew what he was after as soon as he started his quick approach, but she didn’t move away. Her eyes closed once his lips were on hers. He was warm, strong, somewhere she could run to. A fortress within a fortress. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and for a moment, it was this. Coming undone.

She was relinquished to it, until something began to rumble inside of her soul. She knew this feeling, but she deeply wished it would return from whence it came. She tried to override it, but it kept growing. The flashbacks, the faces, the fury in the eyes of men. Her limbs, her bones, her muscles, all sought an escape route. Then, they took hold of her mind, and memories of violence flickered like firelight.

She moaned under her breath, and while it sounded from the outsider’s ears that she was simply engrossed in the kiss, it was really her trying to let it all go. Once and for all, for herself, for this one thing.

Please, please just let it be, she said to herself. It was a war of a Mage’s soul, fighting itself, for the sake of itself.

Her body began to tense, and Cullen picked up on the change. He began to pull away, but as soon as their lips lost contact, an exasperated roar escaped from her mouth.

Then, crash.

Both of them fell backwards but managed to catch themselves before falling. A shield of ice erupted mercilessly from the floor, spikes and growths of wild, crystalline white drawing the line between them. Amarantha’s chest breathed heavily, distraught and devastated. Cullen looked at her from over the barrier with alarm. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked urgently.

Tears began to well in her ember eyes. “Cullen!” she exclaimed, her hands going to her chest in a posture of defense and insecurity.

He was so confused. Why this, if she trusted him so? Is this what a Mage’s limit is? Is this what her limit was, after all this?

She looked down at her ice wall, the wall that mimicked itself from the one around her heart. It was majestic, but terrifying, like it always had been. She had used it on enemies, both dead and alive demonic and mortal, but never once did she predict using it on a would-be lover, and a long-proven friend. Something was wrong, organically so, beyond her will.

She managed to provisionally compose herself enough to say her peace, though the tears began to fall.

“Cullen, I am sorry. I am sorry I must reject you for the crimes of lesser men,” she cried, the crying in her voice reigning supreme.

Cullen exhaled. So it was, then. He would try one last, doomed time. “Amarantha , please,” he implored softly, reaching his hand over the ice blockade that was only as tall as their torsos.

Her eyes widened a bit as she eyed his hand. There is was, the grand symbolism of it all: his hand, his heart, across the line of where her identity could ensure survival. A part of her soul detested him for even suggesting such a choice.

She breathed, hands anxiously turning into fists.

“Cullen, I can’t. This, all of this,” she motioned towards him, the mess she had made, everything.

“This will be the end of me.”

Cullen’s resolve went along with her as she hurried herself out of the Undercroft, door resolutely slamming behind her. Perhaps it was for the best. Perhaps one day they would ironically laugh about the time she stomped on his heart, and how he probably stomped on hers in return. He knew of only one sure thing: that her actions had inspired him to continue pushing for understanding, even if it didn’t win him her love. It could win him justice.

Amarantha felt like she flew across the throne steps and to the door leading to her chambers. She had barely made it to the other side of the door, shutting it just as harshly as the Undercroft door, when she slammed her back against it and slid down to the floor. Tears streamed effortlessly now, but she was otherwise quiet. She hugged her knees like a terrified child, trying to calm herself. All she could see was the shards of ice erupting first within her eyes and then before them.

The kiss’s residual vibrations still on her lips.

The look in his eyes as she left.

We were doomed, always doomed, my friend, she lamented to herself. Better this way.


End file.
